


Audience Participation

by amoeve



Category: Life with Derek
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, actually absurd levels of fluff, always an audience in the McDonald-Venturi house, everyone ships Dasey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoeve/pseuds/amoeve
Summary: Yep, he thinks, that’s Derek, head down, arms wrapped around the girl whose small hands George can see curled around Derek’s back. “C’mon, Derek,” says George, and doesn’t hide his irritation, “What have we said about bringing girls – ” and he stops they’ve both turned to look at him and he knows those blue eyes. He just never expected to see them in the general vicinity of Derek’s upper body.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the wonderful [intentandinvention](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentandinvention/pseuds/intentandinvention), who not only betas fics for fandoms she does not wot of and has miraculously survived my discovery of a new fandom and my ridiculous shipper love of Dasey, but who is brilliant and beautiful and has significantly kept me going over the last few weeks. <3

George sighs as he pulls the car into the driveway. As he pulled around the front of the house, he’s pretty sure he saw the many-limbed creature known as Derek-with-arms-around-a-girl standing in the middle of the living room.

“No girls in the house without our permission, Derek, how many times,” he mutters to himself as he parks.

He doesn’t care about the children dating. He doesn’t even mind if Derek or Casey decide they’re old enough to have a little fun with their dates, not as long as they’re safe and sensible. George has told them before that it would be different if Marti weren’t so young, but she’s only young, and for all that George doesn’t want to be a disciplinarian when it comes to teenage sexuality, they have to draw a line with what’s appropriate for an eight-year-old to see.

He pauses for a moment, steeling himself for an unpleasant evening after he has to lay down the law, and pushes the door open.

Yep, he thinks, that’s Derek, head down, arms wrapped around the girl whose small hands George can see curled around Derek’s back. “C’ _mon_ , Derek,” says George, and doesn’t hide his irritation, “What have we said about bringing girls – ” and he stops they’ve both turned to look at him and he _knows_ those blue eyes. He just never expected to see them in the general vicinity of Derek’s upper body.

Or red-rimmed and leaking tears.

Casey sniffles, “Hi, George.” She has tracks of make-up all down her face.

Her head had been tucked into Derek’s chest, George realises, and she’s tilted her face to look around at him. _Derek must have grown_ , he thinks, absurdly, because Casey looks  _tiny_ – Derek could rest his chin on top of her head.

“Pretty sure you can’t stop _this_ girl getting into the house,” Derek says, but his attempt at a smile is pretty half-hearted.

George realises that what he’d taken for the throes of teenage passion had actually been Casey’s shoulders, shaking with sobs. He finds words for his spasm of anxiety: “Is everything okay?” 

Casey’s phone starts to ring, vibrating across the table.

“That’s the fourth time – ” Derek starts, looking down at her.

Her forehead goes back against his chest. “I’m not talking to him.” It comes out muffled.

“Case…” Derek sighs.

“No,” she says, forcefully. “He’s an asshole.” Her phone stops ringing.

George decides that, since nobody answered his previous question, he’s going to pretend he didn’t ask it, and try from the beginning.

“What’s going on?”

He hears another ring tone, coming from the vicinity of his son and his stepdaughter and their incredible lack of personal space.

Derek sighs. “One sec, dad.” His tone changes to something warning, but gentle. “I’m going to answer it, Casey.” He disentangles a hand from around Casey’s back and fishes in his back pocket.

“Well then _you’re_ an asshole,” George thinks he hears, in defiance of current evidence, since it would appear that his eldest son has somehow become Casey’s chosen mode of comfort, and is that weird?

George can’t decide if it’s weird, or it’s weird that it’s actually kind of _not_ weird.

He gives up, leans on the doorframe, and just watches what happens.

“Hi, Dennis,” Derek says, pressing the phone to his ear, and George thinks, _oh_. “No,” Derek continues, glancing down again, “I don’t think she really wants to talk to you right now.”

“Asshole!” It comes out somewhat muffled.

George really shouldn’t find it funny, but he finds himself suppressing a laugh – until he notices that Derek’s left hand is idly stroking Casey’s back, and that her hands have tightened into fists in the back of his shirt.

After a moment, Derek rolls his eyes. “I know it’s not your fault, but it’s still not great. She’s really upset.”

Whatever Casey mutters darkly into the general region of Derek’s sternum, George misses it.

“Okay,” Derek says. “I’ll let them know. And I’ll ask Casey to call and confirm. Yeah, if she doesn’t, I will.” He pauses again, before saying, “Sure. See ya,” and hanging up. He looks at the top of Casey’s head, corners of his mouth turning down. “You gonna come out of there?”

One of her fists knocks against his back in what appears to be a sort-of thump which George interprets as a ‘no’.

Derek looks up, and George sees the flash of something vaguely uncomfortable cross his face – and he also sees, quite clearly, the moment when Derek decides he’s just going to roll with it and tough it out.

Presumably because he doesn’t think there’s any way to disentangle himself from his stepsister right now. Not without things getting even more awkward.

That, or Casey’s wellbeing is his actual priority here, in which case, George wants to applaud him for character growth and also ask a lot of questions about when and how he got so comfortable curling himself around Casey like that. 

He decides that it’s time to ask again. “ _Now_ will someone enlighten me?”

Casey lifts her head again. “My dad cancelled his visit this weekend.” Her voice breaks, and George sees tears welling up in her eyes. “His stupid company is sending him to Brussels for some stupid conference at the last minute, he’s going to be gone for over a week.” 

Derek folds his arm back around Casey without putting away his phone – or, apparently, feeling self-conscious in front of his father.

 _Interesting_ , George thinks. Derek usually flees as soon as there’s any kind of parent in close proximity of him having any kind of feelings about female humans who are around his own age.

“I’m sorry, Casey,” George says, and he is. He can’t imagine going so long without seeing his kids, or being prepared to disappoint them this much. “Have you told Lizzie?”

She shakes her head, and then looks up at Derek. “What did he have to say for himself?”

Derek shrugs. “He’s very sorry, has no choice, blah blah blah. But he _has_ arranged that his return flight will connect in Toronto rather than going straight to New York. So he’ll be there for six hours on Friday, and he’d like to see you.”

“We have school on Friday!” she cries.

Derek smirks. “Family emergency, princess,” he says, grandly, finally going to tuck his phone back into his pocket. “For family emergencies, there can be no school. I will drive you there myself. Right dad?”

“We’ll see,” George says, pushing off the doorframe. “Let’s talk to Nora.”

Casey sniffs, wiping away a tear. “Thanks, George.”

George frowns, trying not to indicate the fact that he’s noticed she’s clinging to Derek like he’s the only rock in the middle of a very stormy sea. “What for?”

“Not saying no.”

“Hey,” Derek protests. “What about me?” But though he sounds outraged, he looks… _fond_. “I did all the heavy lifting, here.” 

She steps away from him, wiping her eyes. “Thanks for talking to my dad for me. And for _nobly_ offering to drive me to Toronto for the day, so that you can cut school.” Her smile is brief, but it’s there. “And for letting me cry all over your shirt,” she adds, quietly, and George gets the feeling he maybe wasn’t meant to hear that.

Feeling like he needs space to think, because his son and step-daughter have him feeling  like he’s intruded onto an intensely private moment, and has been for some time, he turns into the kitchen, going to open the fridge.

“I am a man of many talents,” he hears Derek say. “One of them is standing still.”

Casey laughs, a little. “I’m getting some tissues and going to clean off my mascara. Want a new shirt?” 

“Sure.” A pause, and then, softly, “Case…”

When George looks around, he catches Derek ducking his head so that he can press his lips to Casey’s hair.

“...Oh,” she says, very faintly, and then they stare at each other.

George thinks, _huh. So maybe they_ didn’t _know where the whole cuddling thing was going_.

“What,” he says, affecting an absent tone, as if he were only just looking up, “do you want for dinner?” 

They flinch back from each other, and blink at him.

“Pasta?” Derek says, just as Casey chimes in, “Bolognese?”

George is almost uncomfortable at how ridiculously in tune they are. “Sure,” he says, reaching for garlic and onions. “Derek, give me a hand.”

They look at each other again, something charged in the way their bodies are angled together, and then Casey’s on her way upstairs and Derek’s ambling into the kitchen with an extremely well-practised air of casualness.

But George knows his son. If he actually felt nothing about the whole thing, he’d be perfectly easy breaking the silence.

Derek only waits for other people to speak when he’s waiting to see what kind of defence he needs to prepare.

He keeps quiet, and George thinks, _bingo_.

“I take it Dennis called while you were on your way home from school,” he guesses, trying to work out the timeline of events that ended up with Derek breaking his own teenage-boy rules about emotions. And physical affection. And how he treats Casey. “Get me a pot, will you?”

“Yup.” Derek leans down and pulls pans from the cupboard. “Casey didn’t even say anything when he told her, she just hung up on him and refused to say anything the whole way home, or answer any of his other calls. He called me just as we pulled in.” He puts the pan on the stove and doesn’t look up at George’s face.

“He called _you_?” George stops chopping garlic and stares at Derek. “How did he get your number?”

“Oh,” Derek says, and it sounds like he’s determined to play this one calm as he pulls peppers from the fridge and reaches for a knife, “Well, after his last visit, when Casey was really upset that she didn’t get to talk to him much? I called him. So he came back.”

“Oh, really?” George notes a faint flush of pink across Derek’s face and neck as he stares down at the chopping board. “You’re making a habit of this, then?”

“What?” Derek grabs for the pepper, which has apparently slipped from under his knife and is making a bid for freedom. “A habit of what?”

George eyeballs him. “Casey.” When Derek glares at him and refuses to elaborate, George raises an eyebrow and says, deliberately, “ _Feelings_.”

“Dad,” Derek says, “ _don’t_ , feelings are annoying and exhausting and I’ve had enough tears for a _month_ – ” 

“Well fucking _thanks_ , Derek Venturi,” Casey snaps from the doorway, and they both jump. “And I actually thought for a moment there that I could count on you.” She flings a clean shirt at him and turns on her heel.

“Ah, shit,” he says, shoving the pepper and knife away from the edge of the counter and darting after her, past the shirt now dangling from the table. “Casey!”

“Leave me alone!” George hears, as he drops the garlic into the pan and hurries over to the sink to wash his hands, in case he needs to break up a fight – or worse.

“Case, c’mon – ” 

“No, it’s fine, you don’t want to deal with this any more – ”

“ – it was _awkward_ , okay, I’m – ”

“ – why don’t you just go hang out with my dad and talk about how men are apparently incapable of having _feelings_ – ”

“ – I am not incapable of feelings!” Derek barks. “I just don’t like talking about them!”

“Oh, like that’s any different?”

“Christ, Casey, stop being such a princess!”

“Don’t call me that!”

George scoops up the abandoned T-shirt and decides that this is enough of a pretext to look and see what fresh madness is brewing in his house.

Derek has hold of one of Casey’s arms, and she’s frozen on the first step of the stairs.

“ _Casey_ ,” he says, so softly that George almost doesn’t catch it. “I’m sorry.” 

She swallows, a tear sliding down her face. 

“Now you call me an asshole,” he instructs her, at a normal tone, tugging gently on her arm. “Or, you know, thump me, whatever makes you feel better. Then we go back to insulting your dad. Right?”

Casey moves down off the stairs, but shakes off his hand, staring up at him and folding her arms. “Can I thump you _and_ call you an asshole?”

“ _Such_ a princess,” Derek rolls his eyes, but he’s pulling her close again.

“I hate you,” she says, with impressive conviction, considering that one of her arms sneaks around his waist as her face tucks back under his chin.

“No, you don’t. _We_ , that’s you and me, hate your dad, remember?” George hears a sniff, and sees Derek sigh, tightening his arms.

“I don’t want to hate him,” Casey sighs, “because he’s my dad.”

“I know.” Derek tips her chin up. “It sucks.”

Of course, that’s when the rest of the family barrel in through the front door. They step away from each other, just a little, so that Derek’s arm is slung around Casey’s shoulder.

“Uh,” Edwin stops in his tracks. “Why are Derek and Casey cuddling?”

“FINALLY,” Marti shrieks, squeezing around him and throwing herself at Derek’s legs. George stares at his daughter, and thinks, not for the first time, _huh_.

“Shut up, Ed,” Derek says, automatically. “Casey’s upset. Hey, Smarti,” he runs his hand over the top of her head.

“Oh, no, honey – what’s up?” Nora grabs Marti’s coat from where she dropped it and hangs it on the rack.

“Is Liz home?” Casey looks up.

Once again George is confronted with the fact that the last quarter-hour of his life has included more non-violent physical contact between Derek and Casey than he thinks he’s seen… ever.

And that, apparently, it’s not going to stop. Not even in the face of all the McDonalds and Venturis.

Lizzie’s face has gone as white as her soccer jersey. “It’s dad, isn’t it,” she says, flatly.

“He isn’t coming,” Casey confirms, her voice wobbling.

“Oh, _no_.” Lizzie sounds devastated, and starts moving further into the house.

“Oh, girls, I’m sorry,” Nora sighs, now shoving abandoned bags out of the way and stepping into the living room. “What happened?”

Edwin panics. “I’m not going to cuddle anyone!”

George is amused to see Derek roll his eyes in disdain – and also apparently miss the irony that Derek usually flees from any kind of physical intimacy.

Marti seems to take this as a challenge, detaching from Derek’s leg and launching herself at Edwin. “What about _me_? Marti wants cuddles!”

Lizzie darts around them as Edwin flees to the far side of the sofa. She gazes at Casey with an appeal in her eyes. “What did he say?”

Casey sniffs. “Some stupid European conference.”

“Oh, _dad_ ,” Lizzie half-wails, reaching out.

“Oh, no, _no_  no no,” Derek says, tightening his grip on Casey and sort of turning her in toward him as he leans away from Lizzie, “no more hugging, I’ve already got my princess, I can’t handle any more – ” 

Nora wraps an arm around Lizzie from behind. “You need a few minutes, Lizzie?”

Lizzie just turns her face into Nora’s side. “Yeah. Stupid dad.”

George catches Nora’s eye. “Hello, darling, welcome to another evening in the madhouse.”

Casey is staring at Derek. “ _Your_ princess?”

“Obviously you’re Smerek’s princess,” says Marti, who’s given up tormenting Edwin and has appeared between Nora’s knee and Derek’s thigh.

There’s a moment of silence in which everyone stares at Derek – and now there’s a red flush spreading from his cheeks to the back of his neck.

“Uh. Wow, I’m really hungry, how’s the bolognese,” Derek rallies, not looking anyone in the eye.

“Fallen at the first hurdle,” says George dryly, and Derek glances up, his mouth twisting in a rueful smile.

“Hmmm,” Nora says, her gaze dropping from Derek’s face to Casey. Casey catches her mother’s eye ducks her head down, turning back in toward Derek.

“I’m crying,” she says, defensively. “Very upset.”

“I,” Derek sighs,staring at the ceiling, “am dying from embarrassment,” and then huffs “Ow!” as Casey thumps his chest. “Stop that!” 

“ _You_ stop it!” she retorts from under his chin.

“Hmmmm,” Nora repeats, meaningfully, eyeballing them both this time. 

“Casey, don’t leave me alone out here being stared at by the fam, it’s weird,” Derek complains. 

“Oh.” Her head pops up. “Sorry.” She blinks at their audience – George in the kitchen doorway, Edwin kneeling on the sofa, Nora with pursed lips and a thoughtful frown on her face, Lizzie still kind of sniffling, Marti bouncing on the tips of her toes and _beaming_. 

“Wow, this _is_ weird,” she says, and they share a glance that seems to say _what the actual fuck_. “Sorry,” she shrugs up at him. 

“I forgive you,” he says, expansively, “this time.” 

“Are you gonna kiss now?” Marti pipes up, and Derek and Casey _cringe_ , springing apart as if they were poles of the same magnet. 

“Oh my God no,” Casey says, hastily stepping away from him. 

“Nope, no,” Derek says, backing up a step. “Audience participation cramps my style.” 

“Not in front of – ” Casey’s mouth snaps shut. 

“The teenagers doth protest too much, methinks,” says Nora, ominously. 

“Well _that’s_ not how it happens in the movies.” Marti sits on the steps in a sulk.  

“And have we experienced this movie-ending moment before?” Nora persists. 

“No!” Derek and Casey chorus.

“That’s ridiculous, the likelihood of you kissing Casey increased to four to one after _Dance Mania_ ,” Edwin adds, helpfully.

“Which is good news for me, because I have a bet to win,” chimes Lizzie, before grinning at Edwin, who looks annoyed.

“Who’s the bet with?” George asks, momentarily distracted by how many other people seem to have seen this coming, as Casey squawks “A _bet_?” and Derek closes his eyes in pain and says

“Oh, God, it’s probably Emily.” 

“Emily,” Lizzie agrees, “and Kendra, and Sally. Sandra lost out a year ago, and Edwin bet _way_ too much on the dancing.” 

“ _How many of my exes_?” Derek chokes. 

Lizzie shrugs. “Well, I saw them in a café talking about you. Emily asked me for the dirt, since I’m Casey’s sister and all. I’ve been keeping them updated for a while.”

“I still can’t believe I didn’t win,” Edwin sighs.

Casey clears her throat, her face crimson. “Can I be exiled? Effective immediately?” 

“I hear Siberia’s lovely this time of year,” Derek offers, edging toward the stairs.

“Sme- _rek_ ,” says Marti, in a perfect imitation of Casey. “There’s supposed to be kissing now, not running away!” 

“What have you been watching, Marti?” George asks – because though this is _highly_ entertaining, he feels he should intervene before his eldest son actually expires from mortification.

“Disney,” Marti shrugs. “And _Dance Mania_.” 

“Are you saying that Casey isn’t good enough for you, Derek?” Nora asks sweetly. 

“Oh my God, Mom!” Casey’s face is flaming as Derek stares at Nora and visibly struggles to put a sentence together.

“I only have your best interests at heart, dear.” 

George chuckles. He loves Nora at her most merciless.

“This isn’t funny, Dad!” Derek says. “I’m dying here! I may never recover!”

“Casey could give you the kiss of life,” Lizzie offers.

“That’s how stories end,” Marti says, “the prince kisses the princess!”

“I hate you all,” Derek groans, and then he ducks his head and presses a kiss to Casey’s cheek. “There. Are we done here?”

Nora, it would seem, is. “Showtime’s over, gang,” she says, but she shoots their eldest children a glance that pins them to the spot and promises long talks later. “Lizzie, get upstairs and shower before dinner. Edwin, go and help your father with the cooking. Marti? Let’s go brush those tangles out of your hair.”

She shoos Edwin into the kitchen and the girls upstairs. Derek’s standing like a man awaiting a death sentence and Casey looks – well, like she wonders what the hell is going to happen next. Which, George reflects, seems fair. 

“You two,” Nora says, “for God’s sake, get it over with,” and then shepherds Marti away. 

“Get it over with?” Derek asks, as George turns his back on them, thinking of the abandoned peppers.

Edwin is standing in the kitchen, back from the door. “Dad,” he hisses, “get out of the way!”

“No,” Casey’s saying in the living room.

God help him, George turns around, full of questions about _his son_ and _his stepdaughter_ and _how long_ and _what in the parenting manual prepares you for this_.

Derek’s shoulders are tense. “No?”

She blushes and folds her arms. “Well… no, we’re not done here. And… no, I don’t want to just ‘get it over with’.”

“Oh God, of course you don’t,” Derek sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You want rainbows and singing animals and an orchestra in the background.” 

“Shut up, at this stage I’d settle for not having an audience of everyone we’re related to,” Casey snorts. 

“Like that’s ever going to happen.”

Edwin glances guiltily at George, and has the grace to look ashamed when George raises an eyebrow and shoos him toward the kitchen counter.

Edwin glares, and stays put. 

In the living room, Casey has frozen. When he looks through again, George feels an unexpected stab of sympathy for the sadness in her eyes. “Oh,” she says, quietly. “I guess… I didn’t think…” She takes a breath. “Well, that’s not something that’s going to go away, and if it would be too weird – ” 

“Casey,” Derek says, taking hold of her upper arms. “This whole evening has been weird. Our _life_ is pretty weird.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “I just understand why you might want to walk away from a huge, mortifying misunderstanding, that’s all.”

George can’t watch.

He can’t watch Edwin watching, either. This is private, and personal, and they’re right, it _is_ weird that all the people they’re related to are lurking like later they’re going to be called on as eyewitnesses.

He glances back.

Derek and Casey are still gazing at each other: she, tired and withdrawn; he, as if he’s searching for something in her face. 

“I wanna _see_ ,” Marti squeals from upstairs.

They break apart, and stare at each other – rueful, blushing, not even slightly surprised. 

“I didn’t realise this was a spectator sport.” Casey folds her arms.

“You’ve been a spectator sport for the last _three years_ ,” Lizzie’s voice rings down the stairwell.

And suddenly, George is done. 

“Alright,” he says, pushing Edwin in the direction of the abandoned vegetables and moving into the living room. “Out, you two. Go for a walk. Hold hands, skip along the sidewalk, I don’t care – be back for dinner at six.” 

“Exile it is,” Derek says, with exaggerated mournfulness, but he grins at his dad to say thanks. “Shift your assets, princess.” 

“Shut up,” she says, “asshole,” but she threads her hand through his as they walk out of the front door – probably, George thinks, if there’s any justice, into the sunset. 

Half an hour later, when he’s laying the table for dinner that he looks up and realises that they are, genuinely, crossing the sidewalk outside the house, holding hands. 

Nora comes down the stairs, stopping as she catches sight of them through the window. 

They stop for a moment, clearly saying something. 

Derek’s free hand is brushes hair back from her face as she laughs. He grins at her, then leans down and presses his mouth to hers.

For a lingering moment, Casey’s fingers tangle in his jacket. Then they break off, and Casey tucks her head back under his chin.

She must say something, because he can hear the sound of Derek’s voice replying.

George turns away when he sees the small, private smile that crosses Derek’s face. It’s not a smirk or a grin, it’s something quietly content.

He lays out more cutlery on the table.

“Is this weird?” Nora asks after a moment, coming to help him. “Casey and Derek, I mean. Marti says she’s been waiting for it to happen for,” Nora affects Marti’s most winning adorable voice, “forever and _ever_. Am I – am I a bad mother? How did I _miss_ something like that?”

George looks at her. He loves everything about Nora – the worried set of her mouth, how hard she tries to give a sensible example to her daughters, how annoyed she gets when she thinks she’s being old-fashioned, how waspish she is when she’s losing her patience with their ridiculous family.

“You wanna read my file on the matter?” Edwin climbs down the stairs.

“No!” George says, as the front door opens.

“It’s very extensive,” Edwin says, sounding hurt. “Lizzie helped me compile all the details. Marti even drew pictures!”

Casey pauses in the act of hanging up her coat. “I… don’t even want to know.” 

“Hey, Dad,” Derek says, with the tone of an announcement. “Can I bring a _girl_ home?” He points at Casey. “Specifically, that one?” 

George expects Casey to glare at him and comment about objectification, but she just rolls her eyes. “You are just _oozing_ charm,” she says, tone as dry as the Sahara.

He smirks at her. “Yeah, I know. So, Dad,” he says, “what’s the verdict? I mean she’s kinda klutzy and perfectionist and she cries sometimes – ” 

“ – I _hate you_ – ”

“ – but, y’know, I actually kind of like her.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and looks smug, like _Yeah, you weren’t expecting that_. 

Without missing a beat, Casey turns to Nora. “I don’t actually hate him.” 

“Yes, well, I lost my bet to Lizzie by _a year_ , so I don’t even want to talk to you right now,” Edwin informs them.

“Oh my God, just sit down,” Nora sighs, “you bunch of massive drama queens.” 

Derek hurries forward, pulling out Casey’s chair. “Your _Highness_ ,” he says – and, for once, sits next to her.

Where once she would have given him a very pointed look, Casey just rolls her eyes at his antics.

Then, when Nora passes her the bowl of spaghetti, she serves Derek first.

He stares at her, and she smiles at him, but she looks pleased, like she’s won an argument. Derek leans back and laughs. “I’d’ve asked you out ages ago if I thought I’d get food.”

Casey serves herself and passes the bowl to Lizzie, who’s already piled her plate high with vegetarian sauce.

“This is whitemail,” Casey informs him. “So that you have to be nice to me. It’s purely self-interest.”

He winks at her, scooping up a forkful.

“You gonna do that kissy thing from _Lady and the Tramp_?” Marti asks.

Derek swallows, and Casey laughs, and Edwin says, “ _Gross_.”

“Not yet,” is what Casey says.

Derek grins. “I _said_ no audience participation, Smarti.” And he quirks an eyebrow at Casey, who goes faintly pink.

And if Edwin looks perturbed and Nora has that little worried wrinkle between her eyes and Casey is shooting Derek a look that definitely suggests she might be interested in what will happen when nobody’s there –

“Okay,” Marti sighs, looking disappointed and poking her pasta. “I s’pose it would be weird to watch.”

“But my bet – ” Lizzie starts.

“No couple talk at the table!” Edwin begs. “It’ll put me off dinner!”

George realises that Derek’s keeping his fork in his left hand, and Casey’s is staying in her right, and then realises that they might, in fact, be holding hands under the table.

He picks up his beer to hide a smile that he’s sure they would find extremely embarrassing.

Casey clears her throat and reaches for the one subject that will distract Nora for hours. “So, mom, how’s work?”

And if Derek leans in a little closer to her than usual when he grabs the garlic bread, and if Casey steals some from his plate, and if Marti keeps eyeing them and giggling to herself –

Well, George thinks, it hasn’t actually rocked the family boat that much.

All in all, he actually rather approves.

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered _Life with Derek_ a few weeks ago, the day after I’d finally been diagnosed with PTSD. As a show, it was absurd and light-hearted and shippy and everything I needed right then. This isn’t the first time in the many years I’ve been online that the healing power of fandom has helped me work through things. Fan communities are amazing, and I feel so lucky to be part of them.


End file.
